


Unsent

by snarechan



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Drama, Horror, Implied Relationships, M/M, Music, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-21 00:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12445200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarechan/pseuds/snarechan
Summary: The Overseers that captured Corvo Attano thought they'd found a direct link to the Outsider and a means to dispose of him forever.They're wrong.





	Unsent

**Author's Note:**

> Before the announcement of _Dishonored 2_ and the Outsider's origins were confirmed, I wanted to play around with the concepts that Harvey Smith vaguely outlined on Twitter, and put my own little spin on it. 
> 
> Basically, I've always found it fascinating how skewed or divergent events become after they've been shared for a long enough period of time. I kind of lost steam with the project, but there was one scene that was fleshed out and adhered to the idea of a cosmic game of telephone that I decided to polish and share it with everyone. 
> 
> Lovingly edited by Glyphenthusiast!

Even if Corvo hadn’t been half out of his mind with a case of seasickness he should not have felt on steady, dry land, there was no conceivable way he would have given a rat’s ass about what the Overseer was chanting about. Sermoning? It was unclear _what_ , precisely, the man was reading.

The words were muddled to start with. After his capture, one of the disciples had strapped Corvo to a stone table and started playing one of the Abbey’s music boxes. He’d gradually lost all cognitive ability the longer he was exposed to such treatment. He’d struggled, as he’d struggled in Coldridge, but the disorientating nausea and weakness was unlike any torture Corvo had endured in prison.

It sapped his strength to the point he could do little more than loll in misery as he was seemingly being lectured to death. Although, there was a third Overseer in the corner brandishing a black metal whaling hook that would suggest the group had other plans to make him suffer before deciding to kill him.

The music box skipped a beat.

At the short, hop-scrape that the contraption made, the Overseer in charge didn’t falter in his spiel. But the flicker of _sharpness_ in Corvo’s senses that the break caused had him on alert. He flopped his head over to one side, the slab of rock cool against his sweaty neck. The follower controlling the machine had also stopped paying rapt attention to the proceedings. He kept cranking the music box, but now stared down at their handiwork. They’d noticed the audible misstep too.

It happened again, much louder this time. A disruption akin to the groan of a ship’s hull under pressure echoed in the room. The presiding Overseer cut off his haranguing and turned toward the musician. “Brother, get yourself under control!”

“M-my apologies.” The nervous Overseer rapidly spun the lever of the music box, but the screeching and moaning only worsened.

“You fool, don’t falter now! Or our purging ceremony will fail—”

The right side of the music box crumpled in on itself. An unseen force had rendered its metal exterior concave. The scratching and tinking sounds were not from the weaponized instrument being operated incorrectly, but the machine collapsing inward. The tune stopped after a final groan, and the handle snapped off in the disciple’s hand.

An unexpected splatter on Corvo’s cheek caused him to flinch. He inclined his head back to see that someone towered over him. His vision remained blurry, fatigue not helping his condition, but he could still make out certain aspects of his surroundings. The person was dark-haired and wearing a brown coat. Something wet bled from both their ears.

“By the Strictures! What _is_ that?” one of the men uttered in disbelief.

“Your sources have _vastly_ misinformed you of the intention and method to the practice you are intent on performing,” the Outsider said, voice softer to Corvo’s ears than the Abbey’s music had been, but ringing clearer than the offending echoes of music.

Angry, terrified yells joined a cacophony of wind that swept through the underground space. Corvo understood only half of what was happening, his ability to focus limited. He couldn’t seem to avert his gaze from the trail of liquid that coagulated at the Outsider’s chin. Reaching up, Corvo tried to brush away the streaks on the Outsider’s face with a sleeve or ward him away, maybe, but his wrist caught with a sharp snag on his chains.

The Outsider finally glanced down at him, head tilted at an angle that hid part of his face in the collar of his jacket. He was eerily calm amongst the wails and the elements raging around them.

“Rest, my dear Corvo,” he said. “You will not be reborn this day.”

Corvo squinted, confused, but more so too stubborn to keep from staring. He did not show his surprise when the Outsider reached out and hovered a hand over his eyes. The chill emanating from his body spread until Corvo felt it as well, enveloping him and seeping into his skin. And in that way, he rode out the storm.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [writing blog on Tumblr](http://snaurus.tumblr.com/) for more content!


End file.
